


Take My Pain (Take it All)

by Argonautic (Aonami)



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: (I changed a few things from the ending), (do I need to tag that? idk), (or u can just interpret it as friendship whatever), (sorry), Implied Chris/Josh, M/M, Mild Gore, Post-Game, Swearing, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 14:03:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4831817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aonami/pseuds/Argonautic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They’re all broken. They all have pieces missing, now.”</p>
<p>(Chris's missing piece is just bigger than the rest)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take My Pain (Take it All)

**Author's Note:**

> idk why I wrote this,,, maybe I like suffering.............
> 
> (sorry)

 

      When the helicopters come, Chris watches as Ashley crumples to the ground, sobbing, as Emily hugs herself, and as Mike, chest heaving and eyes slipping closed, leans against Sam. The nightmare is finally over, but being saved doesn’t make him feel happiness, doesn’t make him feel anything that even _resembles_ relief.

      While they wait for the helicopters to land there is a heavy silence, and it weighs down on all of them, makes their shoulders slope and their frowns grow deeper. It’s better this way, though, because, honestly? There is _nothing_ to say. _Nothing_ can provide comfort, at this point.

      They’re all broken. They _all_ have pieces missing, now.

      Police swarm their little group, eventually, and Chris nods numbly when they ask if there are people missing. He listens to Mike ramble on about Jess, and Emily about Matt, but that’s not everybody, no, and he frowns as he realizes that Sam and Mike came back _alone_.

      “Our other friend, Josh Washington, is down there too.” Sam pipes up, voice unwavering despite everything she’s been through. Chris stares at her, shakes his head and narrows his eyes. What _happened_ in the mines?

      A yell resounds, abruptly, from one of the police officers that were sent to search the area, “We got two more over here!”

_“Two?”_ Chris mumbles, but nobody hears him over the sound of Mike shouting Jess’s name, or the relieved gasp that tumbles out of Emily’s mouth before she runs off.

      He turns his head, sees Matt and Jessica huddled together under a thick blanket, and panic claws at his heart, fills his chest and presses, and _crushes_ until he can hardly breathe. “Two? Where’s–” He spins on his heel, looks at Sam, searching. After a second, she catches him watching, and her face breaks.  Swallowing, he repeats, “Where’s–” but he can’t even finish his question before she lowers her gaze to the ground and clenches her teeth. He swallows down the words, looks back at Jessica and Matt because maybe, _maybe_ this is just another one of Josh’s pranks. _Maybe_ he’s going to be standing right behind them, popping out at the last minute to scare the shit out of them. Maybe, maybe, maybe…

      A hand grips his shoulder, and he turns his head so quickly he gets dazed. But it’s just the policewoman who looks in charge. “Alright,” She starts, tone soft, eyes hardened. “We’re gonna get you all off the mountain now, ok?”

      No, no, that wasn’t– “What about Josh?” His tongue feels numb in his mouth, and there’s a fuzziness in his brain that won’t go away, but he has to know, _has to know_ what happened to Josh. _Where_ is Josh?

      The officer purses her lips and shakes her head briskly. “I’m afraid we haven’t found your friend yet.” She says. Chris’s heart throbs some more, a deep, unforgiving ache that stretches from his chest up to his head and down to his toes. “But that doesn’t mean we’re going to stop looking – a lot of officers are staying up here to search for him. In the meantime, however, you and your other friends are going to get some much needed medical attention.” She pats him once on his shoulder, offers a tentative smile, and he feels like _screaming_ until his throat is raw.

      It takes the coaxing of Sam, and two policemen to get him into a helicopter. He spends the entire ride staring at the floor, trying to keep the broken pieces inside of him together for just a little longer. It’s a little hard maintaining a blank face, but he manages.

      They go to the hospital first, are poked and prodded until the doctors tell them to go wait inside a sterile white room. Time crawls by at a snail’s pace, and Chris spends it with his head in his hands, blocking out the sounds surrounding him. At one point he thinks Sam might have spoken to him, tried to apologize, something like that. He’s not sure why, because he knows that Sam would never hurt Josh on purpose. _(And even if Sam_ is _the one to blame, even if she’s the reason Josh isn’t there with them, then Mike is just as guilty)._

      Some time later, Chris, Matt and Emily are the only ones who continue to the police station, while the rest of them stay behind. Nobody tells them why. Chris “overhears” a doctor saying that Mike and Sam might have hypothermia, anyways.  As for the other two… he doesn’t want to think about how unresponsive Jess was, or the way Ashley wouldn’t stop muttering under her breath and crying.

      At the station, they’re all questioned individually. He’s not sure whether Matt or Emily are able to say anything coherent, let alone sane, or if they even mention anything about the Wendigos, but his mind is too clouded to give clear answers. Eventually, the policewoman across the desk figures that out, too.

     “Ok, Chris,” She sighs, rising from her seat. “I think we’re done for now.”

      They walk outside, back to the hall where Matt is still sitting, waiting his turn. “Matt, was it?” The officer calls, and Matt looks at her with wide eyes. “Follow me, please.” Matt nods, complacent, before getting up and walking towards her. As they cross paths, Chris can see the way he limps, the way he shakes. It’s _obvious_ , so why he wasn’t kept back at the hospital, too? Why weren’t _all_ of them allowed to stay? Hounding a bunch of scared, half-dead teenagers wasn’t the best way to get answers, was it?

      He tries to think some more, but the questions in his mind remain unanswered and it’s starting to make his head throb. Staggering slightly, he collapses onto one of the chairs, and within minutes he’s asleep.

      There are no Wendigos in his dreams, or haunting sounds, or blood and gore. Instead, there is warmth, and it comes in the form of kind eyes and comforting laughs and genuine smiles. He can tell it’s all Josh _(it’s_ always _been Josh),_ but no matter how hard he looks, no matter how many times he calls out, he can’t _see_ Josh. And frustration leaks through, paints his dreams a murky grey, hardens the eyes and quiets the laughs and dims the smiles, and Chris is trying, he’s _trying_ , but he can’t, he _can’t_ , he **_can’t_** **_see_**. Can’t even catch a _glimpse_.

      Frustration shifts to desperation, then to fear, until the final traces of his dream are a faint memory at the back of his mind that he isn’t able to grasp. This time, there are milky eyes and spindly limbs and sharp, sharp teeth.

      Exhaustion settles in, after what seems like millennia, seeping into his bones and letting him sleep a dreamless sleep. It feels like a mercy, and he wants to believe it’s the best thing that’s happened all night, but that would be a blatant lie. When they find Josh _(and they will, they will,_ they will), _that_ will be the mercy. _That_ will be the miracle, the thing that sews him back together and makes him whole again.

      An hour goes by before the hushed voices wake him. Bleary-eyed and sore, he cracks one eye open and sees the policewoman from before speaking with another cop at the end of the hall.

      “–sure it’s the missing teen?” Chris perks up at the question, tries to keep his breathing steady so they don’t notice that he’s eavesdropping.

      “Yeah,” The other officer confirms. There’s a defeated edge to his voice that leaves Chris feeling anxious and panicked. “They’re transporting the body now. It’ll have to pass through here for evidence and such, but I don’t think these kids should see– _that_.” A long sigh punctuates the sentence. Chris takes a steady breath, shifting in his seat. “From what I heard it was–”

      A door opens further down the hall. Chris hears Emily’s voice, though he can’t quite catch what she says. From the way the policewoman sighs, he gathers that it was probably nothing polite. Not that he can blame her – he’s sick of being stuck here, too.

      Their arguing soon becomes white noise, while he tries to wrap his head around what he just heard. The terms that were used – “body”, “It”, “ _that_ ” – get him shaking, tears welling in his eyes. His dream, his _hope_ , feels like it’s slipping through his fingers, and yet he _cannot_ believe that Josh (his _Josh_ ) is– _~~dead~~_. He covers his face with his hands, leaning forward, and bites his bottom lip until the flesh tears and blood drips from the wound. _(There’s no way, no_ way _that Josh can be gone, just like that, right?)._

      Footsteps are heard, through the haze of sadness and aching, but he doesn’t want to look up, doesn’t want to face reality. He just wants proof that Josh is alive, that’s _it_. Is that too much to ask?

      “Chris,” The officer sounds calm, collected. Maybe even kind. Chris doesn’t want her pity. “Listen–”

      A commotion at the entrance interrupts her, thankfully. The doors are opened quite suddenly, and a few policemen walk in, hurried. Behind them, Chris spots a stretcher, and he shoots up in his seat so quickly that he startles the woman in front of him.

      Nothing can stop him – nothing _will_ stop him – as he gravitates towards the entrance. A hand on his chest takes him aback, but he keeps his gaze focused on the stretcher. “I’m sorry son,” One of the officers says, pushing him lightly. “You can’t–”

      “That’s my–” His voice fails him, wavers at the end. “That’s– he’s my _friend_ ,” He finishes, and he sounds and feels so _raw_ , so _tired_ and _aching_. “He’s– I _need_ to see him! He’s my _friend_ , he’s– that’s–” And he’s trying, trying _so hard_ to push past the policeman but the guy won’t _budge_ and he nearly growls. “I need to– I _need_ to see him, _please_! He’s–”

      Behind him, he hears, “Let him through,” and _finally_ , the officer lets him go.

      Something cracks inside of him, when he pulls back the white sheet and sees the body on the stretcher, and it’s something important, something _vital_ because the pain is like nothing he’s ever felt before.  And its sharp, jagged edges skim and cut his chest, drilling deep down until it reaches his heart and squeezes.

      The air, thick with death and decay, makes bile rise in his throat, so he presses the back of his hand to his mouth and swallows. Across from him, the policewoman _(when did she get so close?)_ regards him carefully, assessing. Her gaze is lost on him, though – he just _can’t_ look away from Jo–

      “Chris?” She prods, tone gentled. His eyes flicker to her face momentarily, see the pursed lips and the furrowed brow, and of course, _of course_ she doesn’t care about anything other than finding out what kill– “I need you to step away from the body, now.”

      He looks back down, at the crushed skull and the oozing blood and the cuts and bruises and – and… the bile rises again, swiftly, and he squeezes his eyes shut and bites back a sob. There is an insistent, nagging urge to turn around and _run_ , until he is home and it is safe and he can pretend that he never saw his best friend’s fucking _dead body_ , pretend that all of this was some horrible, _horrible_ nightmare. After a moment, he shoves the thought away, swallows down the acidic taste in his mouth and grimaces.

      A quick, dazed nod is all he can muster as he steps back. “It’s–” He mumbles, runs a hand through his hair and pulls. “It– it’s actually _him_. He’s–” His voice cracks, embarrassingly, as tears well in the corners of his eyes and a tremble works its way through his hands, up his arms, and down his back. He feels dizzy, thinks maybe he’s still sleeping because this _can’t_ be happening. “It’s _him_. It’s _Josh_.” And, God, does it ever _burn_ to say those words.

      All at once, the cracks within him turn into _chasms_ , gaping and deep and _bleeding_.

      The officer – Maria, he remembers numbly – nods once, gaze hard, and claps him on the shoulder before signaling to the paramedics. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Chris.” She says while Josh is wheeled away. It sounds sincere enough, not that he’s actually paying much attention. She waits no more than a second, and then she’s walking back to the other police officers, and he’s alone again.

      When the tears spill over and get into the cuts on his face, it stings, but it is _nothing_ compared to the torn mess of his heart. And even though he bites down on his lip, even though he grinds his teeth together and squeezes his eyes shut, this time he can’t quite manage to hold the pieces inside of him together.

      And he _shatters_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I agonized over the wording so much orz..... I'm really sorry abt this, I don't know why I thought it would be a good idea....... omg...


End file.
